


In the Night

by AvenuePotter



Category: Farscape
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 03:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4418783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvenuePotter/pseuds/AvenuePotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Aeryn both awaken in the night, missing each other.  The first chapter is set in early Season 4 . . . the second chapter is set shortly after Aeryn returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midsleep Cycle - Somewhere in the Uncharteds

Another sleepless night. How many has it been? He can't count anymore. Moya is so still, quiet, and lonely during this part of the sleep cycle. He can barely hear the DRDs moving about over the soft whoosh of the air recirculators. He supposes he could get up and walk the ship again, but his restless nocturnal pacing has started to irritate Pilot. No, better that he pretends to be sleeping – even if his own quarters haunt him with his memories of Aeryn. 

Every time he begins to drift off to sleep and rolls over to pull her close, he realizes she is not there anymore. As his hand reaches and falls towards where her body should be, it just continues to fall, hitting the barren sheet instead. He strokes it softly, wishing it was Aeryn. Every now and then he still finds a stray hair - he treasures those moments, twirling a stray ebony strand in his fingers, remembering much more. But it’s been so long that he rarely runs into them anymore. 

He rolls his face into the pillow beside him – breathing deeply, hoping for any last lingering trace of her. That is another thing that is fading – her scent has been vanishing from his bed, paying no heed to how much he desires it to stay. When he does catch a trace of it, it’s easier to imagine that she hasn't left him. Her scent, however faint, is comforting to him during these long hours alone. 

As he nuzzles deep into the pillow, allowing himself to think it's Aeryn's creamy, white neck, he does catch a faint whiff of her and his groin stirs. “Oh, baby.” 

He can remember the way she would smile, respond to the tenderness in his voice and the love shining in his eyes. How searingly hot her kisses would become once she gave herself to him fully. His arm trails down the back of the pillow, imagining that he feels her back arching against him, their bodies communicating in their own subtle dance. 

“Aeryn, why did you leave me?”


	2. Midsleep Cycle – About a Quarter of a Cycle Later

Wretched human! What the frell does he want? She paces inside her quarters – restless again yet another night. He no longer wanted her. He is so unbelievably confusing - and irritating. She had come back to him. What more can he possibly want? 

She sighs as she realizes all her prowler and combat training will not help her solve this problem. The tactics of war are useless when it comes to love. How would John handle this? Probably “get in her face” as he liked to say and try to force her to talk about it. Fine. If that's how humans dealt with these things, then she would try that. 

She mentally prepares herself, and leaves the room, treading quietly so as not to wake the others. She hears a soft snoring as she approaches his quarters, and lets herself in. 

And there he is on the bed, sprawled out on his back. It has been so long since she's seen him sleeping. Not since his death. . . 

She gulps against the sudden pain that grips her, unexpected. She tells herself that the two men have merged in her mind. That this man sleeping here in this darkened chamber didn't just look like the John she lost, he IS the John she lost. But she knows that's not exactly correct. This John had missed the dance. . . she had left him here alone – not once, but twice. 

But now she's here to make amends. 

“Let me in, John. Please,” she whispers. 

He does not stir. 

She sits beside him on the bed. 

He does not stir. 

She places her fingers tentatively on his forehead, stroking it gently, attempting to ease him from sleep. He is so warm. She runs a finger down the bridge of his nose and across the planes of his cheek, “John?” 

He does not stir. 

Her brow furrows. She never remembers him sleeping this peacefully. EVER. 

She is envious. How can he sleep so deeply knowing that she is likely in her quarters, all alone? 

She herself cannot sleep knowing that he is right here and that she cannot have him. She yearns to have his body in her bed, his touch igniting the deepest fires within her. She remembers his hands holding her tightly, never wanting to let go, his nose teasing her into states of madness, and the intensity with which their lips met every time they kissed. His passion seemed endless. So did his love. 

She briefly considers joining him, right now. She could just climb right into bed beside him. Snuggle up to his warmth – pretend that he still loves her. But should he wake, she would have to face the cold hard embers of rejection swimming in his eyes again. She doesn't think she can handle that. Not now. 

“Frell you, John Crichton – you and your peaceful sleep.” 

Without looking back, she storms back to her room and sinks down into her own empty bed. She forces herself to face the fact that he is content without her, evidenced by his ability to sleep so soundly. It isn't fair. 

As soon as she understood, she had returned to him …. But now, it was too late. He may never love her again – and she has to face that. Yet some nagging hope lingered inside of her, making her stay this time. He had taught her never to give up, and tonight, she just isn't ready to. 

Damn you, John, you frelling human - Damn you for teaching me to hope.


End file.
